Mixed Match Read online

  Ahmed returned his focus to the road and Sophia went back to her thoughts about real life. Which wasn't just about groceries, but suddenly also about lawyers.

  Sophia was grateful Julie's friends rallied to help her find an attorney licensed in Oregon. Jacob Bornstein couldn't have been more than thirty-five, but he was graying already, although not a wrinkle marred his long, pale face. He wore a sensible navy suit, but he paired it with striped neon socks and tennis shoes. Right from the start, she suspected his unorthodox choice of footwear announced who he truly was to people who cared to notice.

  And to say the guy was driven would be a gross understatement.

  The walls of his office were covered with glass shadow boxes full of autographed sports paraphernalia and framed pictures of himself with people who appeared to be members of his firm. Really, the place was chock full of all the things befitting of an up-and-comer. He seemed hungry for success and all the luxuries that came along with it. He seemed like a guy who watched way too many action movies with action heroes he idolized for being power players and score-settlers. And, lucky for her, not only did Bornstein know exactly who John E. Monroe was, he apparently was nursing a personal vendetta against Monroe’s family.

  She didn't have a clue where it stemmed from, but a few minutes into the meeting Sophia found out the Harmans and Monroes were basically a modern Portland version of the Earps and the Clantons—neither time nor space did anything to extinguish the flames of their families' hatred for each other. If anything, they seemed to be burning hotter the more time passed. And somehow, right on track with her luck, Sophia landed smack dab in the middle of the bonfire.

  During their previous meeting, within seconds of handing Bornstein the Petition to Recover Property, Julie grilled him on what it meant as far as the validity of Monroe's claim. She wanted copies of everything from the date of the ownership transfer to the present. She listed off the deed, the guardianship and estate papers. She wanted death certificates. No stone would be left unturned. Before Sophia could think of anything else to add, Julie demanded Bornstein request a thirty-day extension.

  Sophia gripped the arms of one of the uncomfortable modern wooden chairs facing the determined man across the desk. From what she gathered, in between piecemealing the conversation and watching Bornstein dance around Julie's questions, John Monroe was the guardian and executor for the estate of Barbara Monroe, John's grandmother. His claim contended that while John reconciled her estate he discovered the property was taken fraudulently from Barbara by Sophia’s ex’s grandfather, Henry Harman, nearly ten years ago.

  By the time the appointment was over, Bornstein still wasn't sure where Sophia or Patton Place fit in John's master plan, or the Harmans’, but given all the documents she and Julie provided, he accepted the retainer.

  "I'll drop you here,” Ahmed said, jolting Sophia back to the present. “This entrance is closest to the booths." Ahmed flitted a glance in the rearview mirror at her.

  "Thank you so much. I'm sorry I didn't talk much, but I'll be sure to give you a great rating." Sophia stepped out of the Uber at the entrance of Shemanski Park.

  The crowd was sparse, but there were still a good number of people and vendors out and about. As soon as she noticed all the full totes and bouquets, Sophia couldn't wait to immerse herself in the thick of things.

  Near the entrance was a booth with barrels overflowing with eggplant and cabbage and cucumbers and kale and some vegetables she couldn't even name. The fresh, vibrant colors were inviting. Just the sight of them filled her head with new and different dishes she could make. There was definitely an extra bounce to her step as she walked. For Sophia, food was to her as paint or clay were to artists. No matter the ingredients, she could always make colorful art of a simple dish.

  In this place, though, with all this inspiration, she could make a masterpiece.

  Quickly, she grabbed her phone to snap a few pictures to send to Mom. Proof she was giving this city a real go. The farmer's markets in Vegas were improving, but could never match the beautiful, ripened cornucopia of this display. Snap. Another two selfies, each with her smiling, head tilted to the right, her best side. Snap. Snap.

  She aimed the phone at the farmer’s market banner and centered it for the best angle. As she did, a small drop of rain landed on the screen, and she looked up to survey the sky. The sun peeked through the hovering clouds, warming the market and somehow elevating the sweet fragrances of flowers and food. Almost as a mainstay, a light drizzle began to sprinkle over the parade of canopies beneath the trees, but it didn't daunt her one bit.

  Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she typed a message to go with the pictures.

  Sophia: Tell Otis I say hi. I'm out here making a life, singing in the rain, and picking good food. Hope your heart is open. Give him a real chance. XOXO Love you.

  * * *

  Mom: Love you too.

  It was about as good a response as she could expect from her mom, considering she only knew how to do a glacially slow, one-finger jab text. Sophia smiled and tucked her phone away, unfazed by the weather. The more time she spent in this weird town, the less the rain bothered her. Somehow the air seemed cleaner, clearer. Certainly, cleaner than the dry desert heat of Las Vegas—clearer than her suffocating past, for sure.

  Under no circumstances did she delude herself into thinking people in Portland didn't have to deal with the same kinds of problems she came with, but they just seemed freer. Here people weren't leashed to ideas of money and brands. They made things, grew things. They were holding up their end of the bargain with nature, giving as much as they took. More and more, she found she liked it.

  She could see herself here.

  Not because she was hung up on the newness of it all, but because she wanted to make something. Be a part of a community, which seemed to be in the middle of making the world a better place.

  When she showed Julie the retail pad last week, something about having her cousin in her corner made the restaurant seem doable, and not so farfetched. There on the pavement Sophia imagined a small eat-in place, down to its bare bones, with one-of-a-kind recipes, where she knew her customers by name.

  There'd be a Bob or a Lynn, and every time they came in, she'd ask if they wanted "the usual." And she'd know what "the usual" was by heart, because her place would be comfortable and familiar—the only kind of place she'd ever want to run.

  Within twenty minutes of wandering the aisles of the market, Sophia purchased a tote with "Keep Portland Weird and Farmer Fresh" written on the front. It was perfect. Somehow it suited the new unbound version of her—new, improved, and a tinge kitschy.

  It didn't take her long to load the tote down with two bottles of wine, one white and one red. Soon, a handful of the sweetest-smelling, vibrant yellow and orange tulips and fuchsia peonies, and an array of the earth's best fruit and vegetables accompanied them.

  She'd just walked away from a booth boasting every kind of meat from chicken, turkey, and beef to yak, buffalo, and elk, with her own version of a sampler pack, when she smelled the irresistible aroma of fresh baked biscuits. She turned toward the mouthwatering smells, spotted a red umbrella and checkered tablecloth, and bee-lined straight for it. It was one thing to cook super-healthy food, but her nose knew no limits when it came to blowing the whistle on the hunger train.

  "Oh. My. God. This is amazing."

  With a savage bite and both cheeks full of warm, buttery goodness, she signaled a greasy thumbs-up to the bearded guy behind the table and closed her eyes in purest delight.

  "They're the best, aren't they?" A deep, gratifying moan escaped her as a bass-filled voice interrupted her savoring.

  Too stubborn to rush to swallow the biscuit, Sophia opened her eyes and stared, chipmunk-cheeked, at Everett standing beside her in all his splendor.

  "Hello, friend." She managed a smile. "Funny seeing you here."

  * * *

  "It is, isn’t it?” An uneven smile flirted at the
corner of Everett's mouth.

  Sophia couldn’t have known just how funny. It was not a coincidence, him being at the same place at the same time.

  He started following her Instagram feed the day he served her with the hearing notice. More than anything it was a sparsely posted, collaged nutshell of her life. Mainly movies, bite-sized food, a lot of ice cream, family and friends, and throwback high school volleyball pictures. Then, in the last month, a photographer's dream portfolio of Portland.

  When he saw her post today at the farmer’s market, it only took him a short drive and a few aisles to find her.

  And she was finally alone.

  "How’ve you been? You never called." He let the words hang there between them, and he watched her wince at his bluntness. True, Sophia didn't call him, but he figured it was just as well. He didn't want to get confused about what he was doing with her.

  Since he'd last seen Sophia, she'd been busy. This morning Mike told him about the extension, which he viewed as further evidence that she wasn't as innocent as she seemed. Although Everett needed more time with her to determine whether she was a pawn or a player, he still requested the denial of the extension. If she was a player, it was going to take more than a pair of wine-stained lips and midnight eyes to throw him off his game.

  "I'm so sorry. I meant to, it's just my cousin you met—Julie—was in town." She frowned in consternation, her eyes wide. "She was here for four days, and we were packing in as much of the city and touristy stuff as we could before she left yesterday. I was her guide. Not that I know much about the place yet. Mostly downtown."

  Of course Everett also knew this. Her cousin tagged Sophia and another girl online in an endless party-like story feed with celebratory stickers and hashtags.

  At least he now knew she was honest.

  "Is it your first time in Portland?" Everett nodded toward the loaded bags hanging from both of her arms.

  He tried not to stare, but today she was absolutely mesmerizing. Adorable with her cheeks puffed out, full of...it looked like she’d raided the biscuit vendor...flushed with embarrassment. "Am I that obvious?" She threw her head back laughing, baring the soft curve of her neck.

  Everett swallowed the remains of his own biscuit, genuinely enjoying the sound her laugh. He dusted the crumbs off his hands. "Can't say I’ve seen many locals stock for the season in one trip."

  "Hey. I heard that." A playful grimace played across her face. "I am a local now. Remember, you came to my door?"

  I wish I could forget.

  He enjoyed her teasing, and he shouldn’t be encouraging the feeling—he rather liked it, in fact, this playful side of her.

  "Besides, this isn't like any of the farmer’s markets I've ever been to. Vegas doesn't even come close."

  As she spoke, he could feel her studying his mouth for the slightest moment, but it was enough to make Everett fall silent. Enough to force him to look at her mouth.

  An obvious mistake, because he had to forcibly evict the image of her soft lips brushing his from his mind.

  Instinctively, he licked his lips.

  "Hold on a sec." Sophia squinted at him and scrunched her nose. "Do you mind taking a picture with me, for my feed? I really want my mom to know I'm getting settled and making friends."

  It wasn't what he expected, and he had every intention of turning her down. What would Mike think if he saw a picture of him hugged up with Sophia? This was only the third time Everett had spent more than a minute with her, and already he was worried about the slight blurring of the clear line drawn between them. He was willing to do anything to save his grandmother's home—his family home—but something felt wrong about letting Sophia believe they were friends.

  "Oh, no. I hate having my picture taken. I'm not photogenic at all. But if you want, I'll be happy to take one of you."

  "Pleeezeee, I promise I'll only post it if we both look good. If you hate it, I'll delete immediately." She was looking up at him with those depthless eyes again, pleading, sexy, lip-biting. Her dainty hands pressed together in prayer.

  Everett exhaled and let his arms slump by his sides. "Fine. Just don't tag me."

  Sophia did a little shimmy, squealing with delight, her breasts bouncing. "Thankyou! Thankyou! Thankyou! You won't hate it, I promise. I'm actually pretty good. Or at least my food pics are fabulous."

  Before, he could react to the shrinking distance between them or figure what she was about to do she lifted her free hand—loaded bags and all—just high enough to reach the side of his mouth. Everett didn't know whether to step back or lean into the warmth of her hand. "There. I got it for you. You were saving a little bit of biscuit for later," she joked. “As good as they were, I don’t blame you."

  Everything about her was easy and genuine, unassuming. Like she was completely unaware of what her proximity was doing to him.

  Something about the innocent gesture left Everett unsettled. He was on edge. His whole body stilled and his heart paused for the tiniest instant. If his feet weren't rooted to the ground he would have stepped back or at least leaned away. Instead he stood there with a quiver in his stomach as a slight chill coursed through him.

  Don't get caught up. She's still a Harman.

  "Okay, say cheese." Sophia pressed her back against his chest and tilted her head up against the side of his neck. Her arms were outstretched, with the phone aimed down at them. On the screen the image of the two of them looked natural, like this wasn’t their first time. Like they belonged together.

  He examined every pixel, unimpressed with his ten o'clock shadow and thick brows. But at least he'd gotten a fresh fade and his teeth looked white. Sophia on the other hand smelled of sweet strawberries and cream and looked stunning without the least bit of effort. She puckered her pink lips. Her hair fell in waves over her shoulders, and, if he wasn't mistaken, there was heat in her dark eyes.

  If he was really being honest with himself, they looked good together.

  It was an image he wouldn't mind seeing more often.

  Chapter Six

  "See?"

  Everett watched while Sophia studied the picture and then held it up for him to see.

  "You look so cute. How can you possibly believe you're not photogenic? You could totally be a model for this farmer’s market." She laughed and immediately quieted when she seemed to realize what she said.

  "I mean...you look fine. You should have your picture taken more often." Her eyes were wide as she pivoted on her heel.

  The awkward silence thickened.

  "I...uh...should get going." Still he couldn't bring himself to walk away. "Unless you need a hand with those." It just felt like he should say something. "I think the circulation in your arms is being cut off from the rest of your body."

  He laughed it off, but on the inside he was trying to gather himself—working to think with the rational head. Mike was right. She might be beautiful and sexy as hell, but this was his chance to gauge what he was up against.

  He couldn't let a woman come between him and his family home. This was about loyalty and keeping promises. The Harmans compromised both. If she was the only person standing between him and fulfilling his grandmother's last wish to reclaim the family property, Everett needed to know his enemy and her line of defense.

  "Oh, my gosh. I thought you'd never ask. I feel like I'm carrying bricks." She smiled up at him, adjusting the bags on her arm to get out her phone again. "I better hurry up and call for a ride."

  "Wait, you didn't drive?"

  "I Ubered. This crazy idea entered my head to pick up some fresh produce for an amazing meal I was going to prepare, then burn a few calories walking back." She rolled her eyes. "Stupid, I know."

  "Yeah. I'm still not sure why you thought it was a good idea." He joined in on the laughter at Sophia's expense. As she lifted her arms, Everett slid a few up his own arm and shouldered the rest. "What have you got in these things?"

  She cringed. "You really want to know?"

  "If I'
m carrying these Santa sacks, I should at least get to know what's in them."

  "Okay, but don't judge. I found my food processor last week, and I've been doing my market research and business planning, but now all I want to do is get my hands dirty. I'm planning on making this sort of stew with all kinds of meat. Throw in some red wine with a little gorgeous eggplant. Some bell peppers and rice—”

  He interrupted Sophia's recipe, coming to a halt in the middle of the aisle. "Bell peppers. Damn. I almost forgot the bell peppers." He awkwardly fished in his pocket, balancing the bags, and brought out a crumpled piece of paper. "My sister. She gave me a list."

  Sophia stopped just ahead of him. "Sounds like someone who knows her food."

  "Please. She's pure drama. Miss one item and it's the end of the world." Everett threw his free hand up in exasperation. "Next thing you know I'll have a refrigerator full of food I don't know what to do with because she'll insist she can't make the meal without whatever it is I forgot."

  "I like her on principal alone." A smile lurked at the edges of Sophia's mouth.

  And there go those lips again.

  Everett picked up his stride, browsing the vendors in search of the crucial bell peppers—anything to get his mind off those full, kissable lips. Bell peppers. "And it's never regular stuff normal people would know," he continued. "It's always something oddly specific, like horned melons or fiddlehead ferns. He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "She’s actually asked me for both of those at one time or another."

  He pulled Zora's list out of his back pocket and scanned it. There were ten items in all, and green female bell peppers were the only items he hadn’t crossed off yet.

  Sophia peeked over his shoulder. "May I?"

  He stared at the list as he angled it toward her, trying to make sense of it. "See, this is what I'm talking about. How am I supposed to know the difference between male and female bell peppers? They're all green. It's about the extent of my knowledge on them. Normal people’s knowledge."